


take a foot, pull up a chair

by SubbyP



Category: One Piece
Genre: Established Relationship, Food mention, Footsie, M/M, Mugiwara no Ichimi | Straw Hat Pirates, Public Foreplay, ZoSan Month 2018, alcohol mention, featuring: beverage headcanons! journaling! pig mustaches!, foot shenanigans, let reiju be a straw hat 2k18, this gets as racy as i'll probably ever get, under the table sort of thing, zoro's glasses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 23:23:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15106931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubbyP/pseuds/SubbyP
Summary: Zoro sucks at footsie. Sanji doesn't.Written for Zosan Month.





	take a foot, pull up a chair

       Sanji let the galley door slam behind him just as the teakettle went off. He shook the rain out of his hair and inwardly congratulated himself on his timing. The storm outside showed no signs of letting up any time soon, so everyone had crammed into the galley, and although Franky's construction was well-insulated, hot beverages were still necessary to make it a proper stuck-inside day.

       He took a brief survey of the room and set to work passing out drinks. Luffy ( _hot chocolate with cinnamon and chili_ ) was on the highest perch he could find, kicking his heels and cheerfully hogging the sandwiches. Robin ( _black coffee, one sugar_ ) was sitting on the couch, arms crossed and eyes closed. She had given him a hell of a turn when he went out to drop off a snack for Franky and found her eye, ear, and mouth growing out of the ship's wheel, keeping the waterlogged cyborg company during his turn at the helm. Nami ( _orange pekoe, two cream_ ) had just put the final touches on a letter to Vivi and was settling in for a round of cards with Usopp ( _mint tea with honey_ ), Brook ( _milk tea, mostly milk_ ), and Jinbei ( _green tea, no extras, in a “proper cup”_ ). Chopper ( _hot chocolate with marshmallows and peppermint stick_ ) and Reiju ( _North Blue Breakfast and lemon_ ) were frowning over one of those table-devouring ten-thousand-piece mostly-sky puzzles they inexplicably liked. Zoro ( _white tea with a splash of whiskey_ ) was at the end of the table, doing bicep curls, reading a novel Robin lent him--

       --and wearing his glasses! In public! No way was Sanji missing out on a sight like that. This seemed like an absolutely perfect time to do some journaling. And if Sanji just so happened to sit across from Zoro, glance up on occasion, and see the marimo looking all scholarly and handsome, then so be it.

       It was probably a little pathetic that Sanji was putting all this effort into stealthily ogling his own boyfriend, but he preferred to see it as playfully flirtatious.

       Sanji snagged a pen from the holder on the counter and pulled the latest in a series of battered black notebooks from his jacket. The journal was mainly for recipe ideas, to-do lists, and random scraps of information he might learn throughout the day and otherwise forget later, but interspersed throughout the utilitarian stuff were rough drafts of letters to Zeff, impressions of precious memories, sketches (not as good as Usopp's, but at least sort of competent if he did say so himself) and a margin poem or two. This model was about halfway full and had a doodle of a friendly pig embossed into the cover. Sanji decided that the first item on his journaling agenda would be to give it a long-overdue ridiculous mustache and perhaps some form of jaunty hat.

       He trotted out of the kitchen, pausing to give Zoro a kiss on the temple and receive a Nondescript Zoro Grunt, Happy Edition in return, and pulled a chair out with his foot, sitting in one smooth motion. Not more than ten seconds later, Zoro kicked him in the shin.

       Just what the hell did he think he was doing, kicking shins like that? Sanji wore the steel-tipped loafers in their relationship. And such a wimpy kick too, at least in bounty-in-the-millions terms. If Sanji had been a regular person instead of the chef of the future Pirate King, it would have barely left a bruise. Not an enticement to a fight, then, just the marimo being a brat. Sanji rolled his eyes and resumed pondering over mustache placement.

       He did it again! The jackass was seriously jabbing his big dirty combat boot right into Sanji's ankle, all smearing mud into his socks and trying to spread it under his pants and up his leg...

       Was he—Sanji's head snapped up and he dropped his pen in shock—was the dumbass seriously trying to play footsie with him? And failing? In front of God, Chopper, and everybody? Rant canceled; this was _amazing_. The only thing more heart-meltingly adorable than Zoro being romantic was Zoro trying to be romantic and failing.

       The moss was smirking at him like he was the last of the red-hot lovers, when really all he had accomplished was grinding deck mud into the cuffs of Sanji's pants. What an asshole! How dare he, with his big stupid face! He had no idea what he was doing, but he was still giving Sanji the eye as though he had swept him off his feet with his fumbling nonsense, which, to be absolutely honest, he totally had.

       Still, Sanji couldn't just sit idly by and let the marimo go through life thinking that this was how the game is played. He could get in real trouble like that. Besides, it was Sanji's duty as the more experienced one (meaning “the one who had come into the relationship having touched at least one other person's crotch”) to take his neophyte partner under his wing and show him the art of seduction.

       The first step to footsie was to remove one's shoe, to keep that exact mud situation from happening and widen the range of motion available to one's foot. It was just common sense. Sanji slipped his shoe off.

       Next, one should either be flirting with one's partner or acting nonchalant. Zoro had returned to his book, satisfied that he had rocked Sanji's world with his feeble maneuver, and besides Sanji didn't really feel like making bedroom eyes in front of his sister, so nonchalant it was. Sanji turned back to his journal. A handlebar mustache would suit the pig well, he decided. The big curly circus acrobat/pizza chef mustache was certainly ridiculous but it was old hat as far as mustache doodling went.

       As he began the mustache process, he slid his foot over and gently placed it on top of Zoro's. It was important to not go to quickly with this kind of thing. Zoro didn't seem to react, at least not in a way Sanji could see out of the corner of his eye. At this point he probably just thought Sanji was copying him. Well, Sanji would disabuse him of that notion soon enough.

       He probably should get this show on the road before someone needed a refill, though. It would be a pain in the ass to have to halt the process, put his shoe back on, and go all the way over to the coffee maker. Absolutely a mood-killer. Sanji wiggled his toes a bit, in preparation, and then walked them up Zoro's ankle to where his pants were tucked into his boots.

       This was an angle that Sanji hadn't considered. The tucked pants were a bit of a barrier to the skin-on-skin contact necessary for most forms of footsie. He traced circles with his big toe as he thought. Of course he could untuck Zoro's pants with his foot, that wasn't even a question; retucking them after the footsie was concluded was the real quandary. He couldn't allow Zoro to go running around with one pant leg flapping asymmetrically in the wind, and more than that he didn't exactly want to put up a neon sign saying SANJI HAS JUST BEEN GROPING THIS CALF. Some things were meant to be private.

       Still, Sanji had his pride. He let his toes meander to the back of Zoro's calf and rubbed them back and forth almost absently, not looking up, not reacting at all. Total deadpan, that was the key. Stone face. He chewed on the end of the pen. The mustache definitely needed to be fluffier.

       A few seats down the table, Brook lost another hand. For a guy with no facial skin or muscles, he was abominably bad at poker. Also, Nami was probably using her trademark unconventional tactics (Sanji refused to use terms as coarse as _cheating_ to describe an angel like her). Sanji could feel Zoro's pant leg inching its way out of his shoe. He allowed himself a tiny grin, hiding it with the pen. It was a deliciously naughty feeling, doing something that could even loosely be described as taking Zoro's clothes off in broad daylight.

       There was the tiniest _shff_ of cloth on leather as the pant leg came free, soft enough to go unheard if you weren't listening for it. Sanji was totally listening for it. It was the sound of his impending triumph.

       Zoro's calf lacked the soft-over-firm contrast that made ladies' calves so appealing, but it had its own rough-hewn charm. Sanji traced a thin scar with the pad of his toe. He loved playing with Zoro's scars, even though he hated the thought of the big lug getting injured. Every dent in Zoro's iron was a promise to keep moving forward.

       Sanji followed the scar up to the hollow of Zoro's knee. Unfortunately, the moss wasn't ticklish, but the skin behind his knees was soft and warm, if a bit sweaty. Sanji lingered there longer than was probably necessary, relishing the trust Zoro was giving him in allowing him to play with his vulnerable joint. He didn't even tense up, just kept reading his book and doing finger stretches. His other foot nudged Sanji's free leg, just a little, gently, a muddy kiss. He was learning! The beast, while proudly undomesticated, could clearly be somewhat tamed.

       Then a few things happened in quick succession. Luffy made a wide grab for a sandwich just as Usopp leaned in to draw a card, resulting in the sniper taking a big old thwack upside the nose. Usopp yelped and reared back, nearly falling out of his chair and grabbing the nearest thing for support, which happened to be the collar of Jinbei's robes, pulling the unsuspecting helmsman face-first into the table. Jinbei, showing his usual grace, saved his teacup and his dignity, but not without slamming his elbow into the table instead. This created a full-table jostle that spilled Nami's lovingly-stacked poker chips, grievously disturbed the puzzle, and, more germane to the issue at hand, caused Sanji's foot to jerk a few centimeters inwards out of the crook of Zoro's knee and firmly, if marginally, into the fabled Inner Thigh Region. Sanji would have ignored this altogether, tensing as he was to get up and check for spilled beverages and crewmate injuries, but then the impossible happened--

       Zoro trembled. _Trembled,_ like a newborn kitten or a young maiden. Sanji stopped dead with shock. A weak spot? He had touched that area before, and nothing like that had happened. What had changed? Was it the public factor? Sanji doubted it—Zoro was private about sex, but he wasn't embarrassed by it, and he'd never demonstrated an exhibitionist side before. The only changed variable was Sanji's foot.

       WELL.

       Sanji grinned outright. This was very interesting, very interesting indeed. The moss didn't just _like_ footsie; he had a foot _thing_. A foot _interest_. Perhaps even (Sanji could dimly feel the very beginnings of a nosebleed) a foot _fetish_. More likely it was his thing about weapons and trust; Sanji's feet were deadly, after all, and there was no place more vulnerable than the, ahem (the nosebleed was building up momentum and he had to pinch the bridge of his nose to hold it back), _intimate area._ Either way, Sanji had been handed a treasure map and he damn well intended to follow it.

       His crewmates were still making noise in the background. Sanji spared them a glance—everyone seemed to be okay, if sore and a bit disorganized. Miraculously, nothing had spilled. The stars were truly shining on Sanji today. _You go, Sanji,_ he could hear them saying, despite it being 3 PM in the middle of a rainstorm. _You take that shitty moss to the moon and back._

       Far be it for Sanji to disobey the stars.

       Sanji relaxed back into his chair, placing the pen softly on the table. There were things much more important than pig mustaches happening now. Still, consent was vital to any sexual enterprise. Sanji sought out Zoro's eyes.

       Zoro was totally staring at him. Sanji inclined his head slightly, adding a question to his smile, and moved his foot just—the tiniest—bit-- inward. Then he waited for the moss to shake his head or push his foot away. Instead, Zoro looked him dead in the eyes and picked up his hand weight again.

       How like Zoro, to react to a come-on by basically saying “Bet you can't make me care about this.” What a shitty, beastly, combative alley cat. Sanji adored him beyond the capacity for words.

       The obvious path here would be to go straight for the dick, but Sanji discarded that for several reasons. First, no way was he touching Zoro's actual dick in front of his sister, or Chopper for that matter. Second, that would be abrupt to the point of being gauche. Instead, Sanji simply let his foot explore a bit, tracing soft curlicues and arabesques over the ends of Zoro's thigh muscles.

       The man himself seemed to have adapted admirably. He was still trembling, but finely now, invisible to the naked eye. Only the pads of Sanji's toes could pick it out. Sanji traced a shiver up to Zoro's hip joint, retreating just as quickly as he came, then played with his formerly neglected other knee a while.

       It took about twenty seconds for Sanji to start picking up impatience from Zoro's side of the table. Honestly, the big ape had no patience or appreciation for finesse. Sanji was not going to move on an uncivilized schedule. He gave Zoro a flick with his toe, just to remind him who was in charge. Zoro started a bit in his seat, but he didn't falter in his reps or take his eyes from his borrowed book.

       Sanji could feel giggles building up behind his sternum and threatening to bubble up into his throat. The marimo could demand it, but he sure couldn't take it, could he? He wasn't fooling Sanji. Sanji could feel the tension in Zoro's thighs and see the tiniest bit of sweat on his brow. That piddly-shit weight couldn't make Zoro tense or sweat or tremble. That was all Sanji.

       He rewarded himself by skimming his foot just a bit higher, imagining the heat that lay just under his toes as Zoro fought the instinct to relax into his touch. Sanji was past the midpoint of the upper thigh now, but a ways yet from the final destination. This seemed like a good place to stick around for a while. Sanji wiggled a bit, getting comfy, and set to some serious petting.

       It slowly dawned upon Sanji that Zoro, slow reader as he was, hadn't turned a page in a rather long time and had in fact stopped reading altogether. By the time Sanji felt bold enough to venture further—just the top of Zoro's thigh, not even somewhere he couldn't touch with his hand in public, but undeniably _close_ \-- Zoro was staring, glassy-eyed, into the middle distance.

        The marimo had trained to fight on through pain and discomfort, blood loss and illness, searing heat and bitter cold, but he had never bothered to learn to fight through pleasure.

       Something was probably happening down the table; there was certainly more noise than usual, but it barely registered, as though filtering into a dream. Sanji had completely stopped caring. Nothing short of a major provision catastrophe could divert his attention now. In a way, he was tormenting himself too. As much as Sanji loved to take things slow, at this point in the proceedings there would normally have been, at the very least, some kissing. Now, they were a table's-width apart, and Sanji felt his want start to brown around the edges and bake into outright longing. But he'd be damned if he cracked before Zoro did, no matter how unbearable this became, no matter how long it _GOD that was a loud noise what in the hell--_

       Zoro stood up. Sanji realized the loud noise had been him dropping the hand weight to the floor and felt a brief moment of _hey that's my galley floor you asshole!_ But by the time he had that realization, Zoro was around the end of the table, and by the time he came to terms with _that,_ he was already over Zoro's shoulder.

       “Hey! What the-- are you fucking-- you are such a goddamn caveman!”

       Zoro snorted and started for the door.

        Well, this wasn't an outcome Sanji was complaining about, necessarily, but there was the “going outside in the rain again” factor, and the “oh God everyone is totally staring at us” factor, and normally Sanji would have raised more objections, but, really, the marimo had earned a treat after that--

      “Have good sex,” said Nami, absently, as she reorganized the cards in her hand.

       --and if Zoro didn't have a tight hold on him Sanji would have definitely jumped over the railing at that point, so it was really for Sanji's own good anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to DarkChibiShadow for making Zosan Month and thus giving me the impetus to write a) one of my all-time favorite pairings b) something a little more on the M-rated side of things.
> 
> Let me know if I need to tag or warn for anything else!


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